25/07/2026
“Salt & Vinegar”
Friday nights always seemed to have their own little routine.
Long before you reached the fish and chip shop, you could smell the salt and vinegar drifting through the damp evening air. The windows were steamed up, the warm glow spilled out onto the pavement, and there was usually a queue stretching through the doorway. Some faces you knew, others you recognised without ever knowing their names. Funny how a place can become part of your life like that.
Stepping inside, the warmth hit you straight away. You’d loosen your scarf after coming in from the cold while everyone shuffled forward a little at a time. The tiled walls, stainless-steel counter and glass cabinets filled with fish, pies, sausages and mushy peas hadn’t changed for years. Through the steamed-up windows you could just make out the headlights passing outside while the fryer crackled away in the background.
By the time you reached the counter, the order was almost a tradition.
A bag of chips for the family, fish for some, plenty of salt and vinegar.
Walking home, the bag was almost too hot to hold, tucked safely under your coat to keep the rain off. Before you’d even reached the end of the road, you couldn’t resist pinching one from the top. It was always too hot, always covered in salt and vinegar, and somehow tasted even better on the walk home than it ever did sitting at the table.
As the lights from home came into view, you knew the plates would already be waiting.
Looking back, it wasn’t just fish and chips. It was the warmth of the shop, the familiar faces, the end of another working week and the smell of salt and vinegar hanging in the air.
Like so many little routines from those days, it quietly became part of growing up.
